That's Not My Name!
by Twisted Twilight Tales
Summary: It certainly looked as though Isabella had created gold. King Edward summoned her to his castle to repeat her experiments, and make him wealthy. But who was the little girl who turned up every night?


**"Twisted Twilight Tales" O/S Contest**

**Fairy Tale Chosen: Rumplestiltskin**

**Title: That's Not My Name!**

**Word Count: 7746**

**Rating: T**

**Pairing: Bella, Edward**

**Summary: Charlie has locked himself in the attic, conducting experiments. When he's called away on police duty, Isabella steps in. When it looks like she's found the secret to creating gold, Charlie announces it to all and sundry. What is the king going to say about all this?**

**Disclaimer: Come on, really. It's not like anyone could say SM has any claim on such an old folk story, but to satisfy requirements, here goes. I do not own these characters.**

- That's Not My Name! -

There once was a man who was quite clever, but not clever enough.

Having heard of the mystickal, magickal science of alkemy, he went to the bookseller's and bought an ancient, dusty and never-read tome entitled Clandinestus. From thence he visited the Ephemera Emporium, procuring ampoules and beakers. After some reading and some inquiries, and some dark dealings of a dubious nature, he sent away to the East for a mysterious compound which arrived contained in a clay vial with a wax stopper, wrapped in an oiled chamois and secured in a sandalwood box. Then lighting candles in his study to see by one night, he set about some poorly-conceived experimentation.

"Measure this, pour that, heat that, stir this," he said to himself.

Very little happened, other than a few bubbles appearing on the surface of the oily and dense mixture he had concocted in a glass tube, and was holding over a flame.

"Not enough, too much, too little, start again," he muttered.

He locked himself in this room for days, garrett window shut, eating only the flat bread that was slipped under the door every few hours.

Occasional knocks sounded and when he heard them he responded by gruffling. If he didn't hear them due to his fierce concentration, he made no reply.

On the third day he caused a small explosion.

"Charlie, what the hell was that? Open this door right now!" a voice shouted, and the man complied, warm goo slithering down his forehead and kept out of his eyes by his eyebrows.

"You've been shut away long enough. What are you up to in here?" the owner of the voice queried in a peremptory tone, entering the room and conducting a visual examination. Her searching gaze was met by various items of investigative methodological apparatus and a fair bit of debris - specifically, broken glass and puddles of liquid.

"Be chary of the shards," Charlie said helpfully, "and the spilled elixir."

The newcomer was a girl, young and pretty.

"Since when did you become a mad scientist?" she enquired.

"My dear daughter, forgive a man his foolish fancies. I am trying to find a means to provide for us both more amply," Charlie answered.

"By burning the house down? Your plan for our future is to make an insurance claim?"

"Hush, child. I believe I am on the verge of a most momentous and significant discovery! There is but one vital clue I am missing, I am sure of it. If only I could discover the last, elusive ingredient... My calculations all add up, the elements are in the right proportions, the temperature is consistent with what is required..."

"Dad, I don't know that chemistry is your forte, seriously. I appreciate you're probably having a lot of fun in here cooking up potions, but don't give up your day job, okay? You're a better cop than - what is it you're doing, anyway?"

"_Transmutation_, Isabella! The stuff of legends!" Charlie whispered, eyes aglow.

"Yeah, right," his daughter, of altogether more pragmatic character, responded.

She wandered over to where Clandinestus lay open on the bench, where little jars and bottles were scattered about; containers and boxes hither and thither, and everywhere notes scribbled with fine ink in a spidery hand.

"Dad, I just made hamburgers. Why don't you go down to the kitchen and grab one and I'll sort things out a bit in here?" she suggested.

"Very well, very well. Tis true I am somewhat famished," Charlie nodded absently, accepting his daughter's offer.

Isabella's attention was taken by the figures and equations he had written and by the intriguing diagrams covering every piece of paper she could see.

"I wouldn't be surprised if he had wool of duck and tongue of bat on a list here somewhere," she mused as she traced a finger down a line of numbers, following the path of the finger with a curious gaze.

She was still absorbed with her reading and contemplations when Charlie re-entered some time later.

"My dear," he began, "I have just received word that there has been some disturbance with wild animals some way from here, and I must attend to it. I may be a day or more, although I shall endeavor to be no longer than that. Regretful though I am to leave you unattended, needs must be."

Charlie was one of a small but dedicated number of community members who took up the mantle of the constabulary as and when required.

"Sure Dad, no probs," Isabella responded, and her father took his leave.

By the morrow he had not returned, and Isabella had had little sleep, caught up in imaginings as she had become. Her father's contagion had infected her. She had opened amphorae and had added pinches of this, extract of that, a quantity of such and such and so forth, and a thimbleful here and there as she chilled and warmed and diluted and condensed. The seven step program detailed in Clandinestus, authoritative repository of aracana, had been followed to the letter, to no avail.

Charred, soggy lumps and crumbs, all dark, were what remained in the bottom of the beaker despite her efforts, and the matchless quarry of both Isabella and her father appeared to be remaining just that.

"This stuff - these ingredients, everything's so lifeless and grey..." Isabella murmured. The recipe, in essence, was for the creation, in all its softly glowing glory, of _or_, beloved of all, prized by all, sought by all. Gold.

Not this murky flat dullness.

Isabella set out in the morning to capture everything she could in nature that was of the gleaming, priceless, gentle yet bright hue of aurum.

She collected buttercups and dandelions, marigolds and corn; feathers from canaries and startling bright carp from the stream - anything of warm, sunny hue. She brought them back to the attic room and added them to her mixture in tiny measures, checking the formulae constantly, spending the entire day and evening at her self-appointed task. Night wore on, and her attempts failed to yield the desired results, though she reasoned gold must beget gold, surely? Weariness threatened to claim her. Considering that perhaps her additives were too bright, given the glow of the argent and mercury, she even introduced the pale, dry yellow of straw. Base clumps remained, despite the scholarly and probitous assurances in the crinkly pages of the book whose name described its character.

But her father would no doubt return on the morrow, and would no doubt spend more fruitless days and nights engaged in this endeavor that would seemingly yield no beneficial results, just tiredness.

There was one thing she had yet to try.

Isabella's mother Renee had passed away when Isabella was but a child, leaving nothing behind but uncertain memories, and a golden wedding band.

Perhaps, just perhaps, if the real element were to be added to the stream of ingredients, the others would be compelled to act as desired; perhaps they would rearrange themselves as to their qualities and properties with the actual element present to exemplify itself as their guide.

No slender third finger would be adorned by that sadly redundant yellow band, Isabella thought, and mindful of her father's dearest wish to provide for her in comfort, she dropped the circlet into the solution.

By this time, her eyelids were so heavy as to prevent visual acuity, and after barely summoning the energy to extinguish the wee flame beneath the chemical burner with an exhaled breath, Isabella had to retire to her bed.

Her father did indeed return in the morning, weary of limb and tired of heart, having been engaged in the pursuit of creatures unknown presumed responsible for the attack upon a fisherman.

"Bears, wolves, forest cats, man-eating boar," were the possibilities suggested by those on the hunting team, but Charlie's estimation was eagles, from the talon marks in the victim. Eagles were beyond the reach of local law enforcement.

He staggered in to the cottage and slept long, not rising until nightfall.

And then it was apparent that Isabella was not home, which wasn't unusual, as she had acquaintances aplenty and friends several in the neighborhood, and a maiden on the verge of womanhood needs the company of other women to let her know what's in store once she marries. Charlie certainly wasn't going to be her source of information on that particular matter. Its first hearing strikes an adolescent girl as beyond belief and she could be forgiven for losing all trust in the kindness and honesty of whomsoever imparts the dread facts.

Yawning and stretching, he climbed the winding attic stairs to the small room up at the top, all shrouded in the warm night, though moonglow peeked through the lattice windows and cast a shimmer on the polished floorboards. His laboratory was not quite as he had left it, so clearly his daughter had been here in his absence. What had she been up to?

Further into the room a different sort of glow became apparent, as Charlie peered over the rim of the metal pot Isabella had last used for her concocting. The sides were low, the base broad and flat - about the width of a man's hand across. A few dried twiggy sticks and stems stuck out, burnt and blackened. Puzzled, he picked them up and sniffed them. Earthy and grassy scents arose at his nostrils' demand. Straw? But back down in the pot, in the centre, at the bottom, lay a solid puddle. It gleamed. It shone. It glittered quietly with the still glow valued in all societies, in all countries. The dearest, prettiest, softest, most lovely thing our earth has given us.

Was his daughter responsible for this? Of course she was - who else could be?

Charlie skipped downstairs, invigorated, barely able to contain himself. Where could he go? Who could he tell? He wanted to bash on all the doors, ring the town bell, holler and howl and wake the dogs, set the horses free with smacks to their rumps and a yahoo to encourage them.

The tavern!

Not a drinking man, tonight was different. There could be nothing better than a tankard of amber ale to celebrate his genius daughter and her _remarkable_ achievement!

He sailed into the inn on a wave of triumph; joy and success writ large on his face above and beneath the moustache which all but obscured his upper lip, and he sat at the bar, smacking his lips in anticipation. Should he tell or shouldn't he? Would it be better or worse for Isabella if he did?

Chatter which had come to halt at his entry resumed and still he sat, wracked with indecision. Boast? Brag? No. Announce? Declare? No.

His Isabella might not thank him for making a fuss about this. She was a quiet girl. Dutiful, calm, obedient. The best daughter a man could hope for, really. But she had no suitors, and she was at the age men should be lining up for him to beat off with a stick. Why was it that the demure Isabella was uncourted? Did the idiots about him not see her worth?

"My daughter..." he began, and it seemed no-one listened.

"My_ daughter_..." No response.

Charlie turned to face the room. Silence fell.

"My DAUGHTER - - - HAS TURNED _STRAW_ INTO _GOLD_!"

From the other end of the bar, in the shadows, sat a man Charlie had never seen before.

"Is that so?" his voice drawled.

His name was Edward, and though he lived locally, he had never before visited the tavern. He was a King's son, and he had been a King's brother, and yet another King's brother. Now he was King himself, as all three older male members of his family had given up the crown.

His father, crowned as a single man, had fallen in love with a divorcee, who could not by law be queen. The new king had made his choice - hmm, love or duty? - and had abdicated.

His two brothers had simply declined, on the grounds that they had better things to do.

Young Edward wasn't enthusiastic about the idea of being king himself, and had come out for a quiet night where nobody knew him, to see the nature of the people and to decide whether he would prefer to govern, or be one of them.

The crown itself was not in a good financial position, having been run down by poor management in the long ago past, and Edward, though Prince and King both, while sitting in a humble bar in an ordinary township was just as one of his subjects, neither more nor less. He had barely a coin in his pocket, and barely a prospect of acquiring any more. A king makes money by taxes, but if the people can't pay, the King cannot collect.

However, Edward was not motivated by wealth. He was interested in the world at large, in people, and in discoveries.

He heard the unlikely claim by the man at the bar who was clearly exhilirated about something, and who was clearly not drunk enough to be inventing his own story.

"What was that you said?" Edward asked, edging closer.

Charlie, as possessor of a strong moral code, a stable temperament and a quick and sound judgement, came to a decision as to the trustworthiness of the stranger.

"It is even as I have laid claim, friend," he nodded. "My extraordinary daughter, bereft of a mother's love yet steadfast as a yew and bright as a starling's eye, has brought to light a secret. I would call it a miracle, but it's mathematical. It's scientific and empirical, and has lain awaiting any with the cleverness and dedication to find the key." He paused for effect. "_My daughter can transform everyday substances into gold_."

The young king came forward now completely. "I'd like to meet this daughter. And I'd like to see the evidence," he said.

Charlie narrowed his eyes and evaluated the stranger, who was very well dressed, with a proud bearing. He showed no air of avarice at the mention of gold, he looked polite and merely interested.

"Well, I'm sure you would. I'm sure we all would," Charlie said. "But she's not some sort of spectacle. And this is not some sort of parlor trick. I will seek her permission first, and you may wait upon her good favor."

"Whatever you say. I'm Edward, by the way," the young man said, extending his hand. He had the firm grip of a gentleman, not limp and effete and not hard and boorish. His eyes were direct, his demeanor confident, yet without arrogance.

_Hmm,_ Charlie thought. _He's young, he's clean, he's well-mannered, and I'd like grandchildren. Isabella should meet him._

The next day, he knocked gently on his daughter's bedroom door, after having prepared a pot of tea, and browning a thick slab of bread impaled on fork prongs over the kitchen fire. When Isabella was small he'd cooked her oats, and had barely cooked since. She'd looked after him many a long year, and he'd sometimes wondered if their circumstances had stolen her childhood. Without a woman to run the house, a girl had done the job, and a very good job she'd done. Charlie was not the village fool, not by any means, but he'd left school as a lad, as had all the boys, save those destined for the priesthood or teaching or doctoring. His education since then had been by his wits. Things had changed in but a few years, and now his daughter had had more of book-learning than he'd ever had, and had proved to be of swift and able reasoning. No wonder she'd deciphered the Clandinestus when he couldn't, and had found a way to make his numbers add up to more than he had. His daughter was clever, capable and caring. He was a lucky man.

Her murmured assent answered his rap on her door, and he took in the tray with the small but hearty repast he'd painstakingly prepared.

"Today, daughter mine, we are to have a gentleman caller, come to see the marvel in the upstairs room," he smiled. _And to meet you_ was the unvoiced subtext.

Isabella was askance, as she surmised that he was referring to the paltry amount of precious metal lying in a blob in the little iron receptacle over the little grate above last night's flame of failed scientific exploration.

"You're joking, right?" she said sharply.

"No, Isabella, I would not jest about such a matter," he scolded lightly.

"Jeez, Dad, how would anyone know what's in the upstairs room?" she asked. "Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?"

"I believe I most assuredly am. Your success, my dear. Your unparalleled achievement. I know you ventured in there and continued my work after I was compelled to leave, and now the culmination of your labors is apparent."

"I have to tell you something. I know what you think happened, but it didn't. Dad, really, just listen to me for a second..."

The door bell rang, and Charlie quit the room, and Isabella flung off her coverlet and sheets, standing in her petticoat, biting her lip. She had to immediately confess to Charlie what she'd done and how the experiments hadn't actually worked at all, but she'd have to pull him aside somehow to do it, so as not to cause him any embarrassment in front of their guest.

Once suitably attired, she went downstairs and into the reception room.

Charlie was standing with his back to her, with a man as tall as himself standing there too, both of them gazing out of the bay window. She cleared her throat a little to discreetly inform them of her arrival and they turned in tandem.

The stranger was splendid, even to a young girl who had spent the previous day looking at Nature's wonders. He was surely one of them, though not one she could so casually pick up in a field and bring home.

"Hello Bella, I'm Edward," he smiled, stepping forward. "Charlie was just singing your praises. He's one proud dad."

"Yeah, well, his dementia's setting in. Don't believe anything he says," she mumbled. "He gets me mixed up with my imaginary friend. She was pretty rad."

"My Isabella's modesty is only exceeded by her beaut - " Charlie began.

"Dad!" Isabella exclaimed.

"Well, let's not tarry a moment longer. We must proceed. Follow me, young Edward," Charlie said, and he made for the staircase.

Edward stood aside in a courteous way, allowing Isabella to walk before him.

"Uh, there's really something I should say. I don't know what Charlie's been telling you, although I can guess, but - " she began, but Charlie interrupted again.

"You won't believe the evidence of your own eyes, young Edward. It is not just the rare and valuable element that was made here last night - _history_ was made here too!" he crowed over his shoulder.

"Seriously, Edward, can I have a quick word?" Isabella hissed, but they had all made their way through the door at the apex of the rickety stairs by then, Edward needing to bow his head to pass under the lintel.

The room was as Isabella had left it, and Charlie strode triumphantly to the little saucepan, holding it up with a flourish.

"Yesterday, the stalks and stems of the field - today... gold!" he proclaimed.

"Extraordinary," Edward admitted, his gaze lingering awhile on Isabella's countenance before he turned back to her father. "And this was done how?"

"Science, my friend, science. There is a method, and that method must be followed to the letter, or success will not be met. The many, many failures of dedicated and diligent practitioners in this field are well-documented. But my precious daughter rendered an abstruse ingredient."

In the small room, stooping a little, Edward turned again to observe Isabella who stood frowning, knowing her father's claims to be fraudulent but unwilling to expose him as gullible, vain and foolish in front of a stranger.

"Are you going to let me in on your secret, Isabella?" Edward asked.

"No, she is not!" Charlie announced before his daughter could respond. He had a plan in mind, a wish for his daughter's future happiness in his heart, and determination in his veins.

"Isabella will not reveal to you the extraodrinary and arcane eliksir. But if you require any further proof of her ability to do what we have clearly seen she can do, I hereby instruct you to provide her with a private and suitable room at your place of residence, and furnish her with such materials and equipment as she may deem necessary. The sensitive operation can only be conducted at night, therefore I shall present myself and my daughter at your dwelling tomorrow morning, at the amethyst hour, and by cock's crow you shall have something for your coffers. Are we agreed?"

"Sounds good to me," Edward nodded smoothly, and Isabella drew a deep breath. How had she become embroiled in such a perverse situation? And what was she to do about it?

A solution eluded her, and by the next evening she found herself and her father at the palace of the young king.

"Dinner? Anything to drink? Or straight down to business?" Edward asked, favoring her with a smile. He really was most attractive of feature, she had to admit to herself. If this situation wasn't so ridiculous and so out of hand - well, under any normal circumstances she would not have met a king. His startling and undeniable attractiveness was of no consequence considering the highly difficult position she was in. She needed to speak to him privately, and yet her vainglorious father was seemingly loathe to grant her the opportunity.

After exchanging pleasantries, Edward showed her to a room he had had especially prepared. The door shut behind him, and Isabella sank to her knees. She had no need to check the variety of items he had laid out for her to know that what she required would not be there. She couldn't make gold at all, she could only melt it.

In her despair, she failed to hear the door open. At least, that's what she assumed must have happened when she looked up to find herself under the scrutiny of a curious figure. A little girl stood before her with huge brown eyes soft and inquiring, fingers twirling themselves through pretty red hair.

"Who are you?" they asked simultaneously.

Isabella recovered from her surprise first.

"I'm Bella," she offered gently. The girl stood in her flowered dress, with a sash around the waist and a matching ribbon in her hair, looking more wondering than startled.

"Bella-rella-fella-hella," she rhymed. "Ooh, I said a bad word! I said _hell_."

"I won't tell anyone," Isabella assured her. "Do you live here? Are you related to Edward? Do your parents work in the castle?"

The girl skipped in a circle and then started tracing patterns on the floor with the toe of her shoe.

"Too many questions," she stated. "I want to ask you some. Why don't worms have a head at each end, so they don't have to turn around? Why isn't a fish called a swim? If the world is round like a ball, why isn't it bouncing?"

Isabella laughed merrily at the girl's quizzical expression. "I would answer those for you if I could, sweetie. Now, are you going to tell me why you're here?"

"Why are _you_ here?" came the response.

It seemed the type of every day conversation one might enjoy with another adult of one's acquaintance which would involve taking turns with asking questions and receiving relevant answers was not to be the order of business here, Isabella realized. It mattered not, as she was glad of the diversion.

"I'm here because I did something on a whim, and my dad found it and misunderstood, and I didn't get the chance to explain properly to him. He met Edward in a bar and bragged about what he thought I'd done, and Edward believed it, and now he's brought me here to see if I can do it again. Only I can't."

Judging by the little frown creasing the skin between her eyebrows, the girl was puzzled.

"What was the thing?" she inquired.

"Oh, my dad had this experiment going, to see if he could turn things into gold. It can't be done; people have been trying for hundreds of years. I got an old wedding ring made of actual gold and melted it down in a pot, and my father saw it and thought I'd made it out of straw."

Biting her lip and apparently thinking very hard, the girl moved her eyes from side to side.

"I could help you," she announced at last.

"Thanks, honey, but I'm really just going to have to tell Edward the truth. I don't want to make my dad look silly, but it's just not possible to do what Edward wants," Isabella said softly.

"Just wait," the girl replied confidently. "When Edward comes in here I have a special, clever trick that I can do, and everything will be all right. Now will you play with me? Do you know hopscotch?"

The game, and others, amused them sufficiently until Isabella deemed it time that the child was abed. With a hug and kiss from each to the other, the two girls said goodnight, and the younger of them seemed to simply disappear when Isabella blinked.

In the morning, at the moment a knock sounded on the door heralding Edward's arrival, the little impish girl was back, hair in a different colored ribbon and eyes sparking merrily.

"Good morning, Bella. You have a friend?" Edward asked, casting a surprised glance at the child. "Who are you, angel?"

"I'm me!" the girl replied, beaming, as though it were obvious.

"Please join me for breakfast, Bella, and your friend, too. Now let's see what you managed last night," Edward said, striding to the bench which bore the equipment Isabella had barely bothered to glance at, knowing the hopelessness of her situation.

As he peered over the edge of the iron pot sitting over the burner, the child ran to him, holding her arms up.

"Edward, Edward!" she sang, in such an appealing tone that he stopped and turned to her. She was so small, and he so tall that he towered over her.

"Yes, Miss Smiley?" he asked, and bent to one knee so that she could come close.

She lifted both hands to his face, cupping his cheeks tenderly, and brought her mouth near enough to favor him with a featherlight kiss. He was already regarding her with affection, but after the kiss his smile grew, and he turned to Isabella in wonder.

"Well, I have to say I'm - surprised," he said. "Pleasantly."

He came to Isabella and took both of her hands in his.

"You must be hungry. I'm being a very poor host. What would you like? Coffee? Eggs? Muesli and yoghurt? Come on, let's have breakfast. I'm _starving_, aren't you?"

After a breakfast which was more food than Isabella would normally sit down to over an entire day, Edward summoned a cabriolet with a driver to see her home, asking her to return that same evening.

She had no comprehension of what had transpired in the exchange between Edward and the little girl, although it appeared that Edward was somehow under the impression that she had been successful in the undertaking he had required of her. Charlie was absent, no doubt engaged in duties of the village constable, which was his position, and Isabella had no-one to confide in. She busied herself about the house until the appointed time came, and today Edward had sent the little carriage to collect her.

"Bella, hi. I've been thinking about you all day," Edward began, then stopped as a blush seemed to flourish along his cheekbones. "I mean, about the business with the - ah - gold," he amended. "I've set everything up exactly the same as last night. If you need anything else you only have to ask. I'll be just along the hall. And I'm sorry, yesterday I didn't think to ask you if you wanted to take a break. How about tonight I come and get you, and we could have snacks and hot chocolate? Say, ten o'clock?"

Isabella felt a degree of confusion. The offer of supper and a break from her appointed task seemed to indicate that the prince perhaps desired a little of her company. On the other hand, it could simply mean that he thought her productivity would be improved if she were able to direct her attention away from her presumed concentration and calculation, and enjoy a brief respite in order to renew her energy.

"Hot chocolate sounds good. Ten o'clock sounds good, too," she found herself replying, without the volition of conscious thought.

Once back in the painstakingly constructed laboratory, which was in fact an open prison given that there was no lock upon the door, Isabella was despondent. Edward had been deceived as to her accomplishments of the previous night by the mysterious art of the unknown little girl, and he was still laboring under the misapprehension engendered in the first instance by Isabella's father. Possessed of an honest soul, Isabella felt that this deception was not to be borne. She resolved that she would tell him the truth.

A quick inventory of the items and ingredients placed at her disposal revealed that he certainly presumed her father's claims had been substantiated. There was a little oil burner with a hot plate upon which to stand the iron pot, there was her father's huge and heavy book of consultation, Clandinestus, and a notebook in which to enscribe her formulae and calculations. On the floor next to the table-legs was a huge sack of straw. Hadn't he wondered why it was that the sack was undepleted after the previous night?

As she sighed over her puzzling situation, a light and happy voice sounded from behind her.

"Hel_lo_ Bella-_bo_!"

Her companion from the previous night was suddenly in the room, as though having manifested out of thin air.

"Hey, Pookie. S'up?" Isabella responded, pleased to see the girl but unable to summon enthusiasm.

"My name isn't _Pookie_!" the child declared with indignation.

"Well, Peaches, you haven't told me what it is, so how do I know what to call you?" Isabella, reputed goldmaker replied.

"_You_ have to tell_ me_ silly! It's like a guessing game. Go on, try," the little one said.

"I'm supposed to be turning straw into gold here, not playing games with you, Muffin," Isabella chided gently.

"I'm not Muffin. Nobody in the world is called Muffin. Not even the Muffin Man - he's called the _Muffin Man_! And anyway, you might as well play with me, because you know I can help you with that other business. I did it last night, didn't I?" the girl said, twisting a strand of her auburn hair.

"Yes - well I have no idea what you did, but Edward certainly seemed pleased with me. What _did_ you do? And how did you do it?"

"Oh," the girl said airily, standing on one foot with a smile of mischief in her pretty dark eyes. "I told you. It's a trick. I can touch somebody's cheek and make them see what I want to show them. I - um... well, I guess I made a mind picture for myself of that pot, and I put lots of gold in it - sort of like custard but nicer, and then I sent it to him. It was probably about, oh, a million dollars."

"You sent him a mind picture?" Isabella queried. She had never heard of such a thing, and while she didn't want to accuse the child of untruthfulness, it hardly seemed credible.

"Yeah. It's easy-peasy. I'll make some for you," her young visitor offered instantly.

"Sure."

Curiosity piqued, Isabella sank gracefully to the floor, arranging herself cross-legged. Little soft hands came to her face, touching with a light gentleness, and an image slipped into her mind.

"Ponies? Purple ponies with rainbow tails?" she asked in astonishment, and was answered with a giggle.

It wasn't so much that there was an actual image to be seen anywhere in her field of vision - it was the idea, the concept of an image.

"A carousel? The ponies are on a carousel! Holy moley - how the heck are you doing that? That's incredible! Show me what you showed Edward! I mean, can you please show me..."

Slipping into her mind was the idea of a pot of gold, exactly as the little girl had described it. Rich, gleaming, and thickly fluid with the texture of custard - no wonder the prince had looked surprised and happy. He would have thought a vast wealth had been created for him by the Midas-maid.

"Okay, Pumpkin. You have a gift. Seriously. That doesn't actually get me out of the mess I've gotten myself into, but it does buy me some time. Can you show me some more? Show me your family," Isabella prompted, intrigued by the girl's unusual ability and seeking further demonstrations of it.

"Um - what about if I show you some other things?" the girl answered.

As Isabella sat with small fingers holding her face in the lightest of caresses, floods of images came to her. They were the sorts of bits and pieces one might expect to have residence in the mind of a young girl of six or seven - a bicycle, sets of coloring pencils, a piano, bouncing balls and playing cards and cakes and ribbons. Strangely, there were no people amongst the parade of bright things.

"Cupcake, this is all lovely, and I'm completely blown away, and I appreciate the view into your psyche, but - where are your parents?" Isabella asked in confusion. Surely, uppermost amongst a child's thoughts would be their parents?

The girl stood with her lower lip trembling, and said stoutly, "You have to guess my name," as though Isabella hadn't spoken.

"Okay, right. It must be nearly your bedtime. A few guesses - okay?" Isabella murmured, concerned that the girl was upset.

"Stacey? Jane? Mary-Jo? Lisa?" she began.

The response was a shake of a little chestnut-topped head and a small, reluctant smile.

"Carmen? Siobhan? Mackenna? Bree?"

More of a smile. "You're not really trying. As if I'd have a weird name like those," the child murmured.

"Zoe? River? Kayley? Inara?"

"Not even close."

"Willow? Anya? Cordelia? Dawn?"

The game was threatening to draw out to epic proportions, as there were probably as many little girls' names and variations on them as there were stars in the sky, Isabella thought.

"Can I call you Darling if I don't get your name right?" she ventured, and her inquisitor shrugged.

"I guess. Darling's nice," she said. "Can we play cat's cradle?"

Isabella and Darling were playing when Edward arrived with the announcement that ten o'clock was upon them, and the promised hot chocolate was at that very moment being prepared in the kitchen.

"Darling, ten is late for someone your age, and you know, you need your sleep so that you grow up big and strong," Isabella told the mite, gathering her up for an embrace. The girl returned the affectionate gesture ardently.

"I'll just give Edward a tickle on his cheek, and then I'll go," she whispered, and did exactly as she said she would.

Edward turned to Isabella with a look somewhere between curiosity and cautious pleasedness after his quick kiss from little Darling, and he offered to escort Isabella to the kitchens.

"Do you prefer white or pink marshmallows?" he enquired.

"Well, duh - pink of course," Isabella responded, one hand tucked through his elbow, the other lifting her skirt and its underlying petticoat as they traversed the castle's flagged stone floors.

An hour seemed to fly by as the two found themselves caught in conversation, though they steered clear of anything involving chemistry.

"Have you been comfortable? Is there anything else you need?" Edward asked, prior to seeing Isabella back to her designated quarter.

"No, everything's fine. Cheers," she responded, the memory suddenly upon her of how he was being deceived, and how complicit she was in his deception. He was a perfectly nice person, and here she was, purporting to create wealth for him. Yet - how nice a person was he, if wealth were his primary concern?

She resolved that tomorrow she would be frank, and would relate entirely the circumstances by which the small amount of precious gold had appeared in her melting pot. She couldn't explain little Darling, but then, maybe Edward could...

And on the morrow, there she was again in the room with the abundance of straw, and there was little Darling, playful and delightful. There too was Edward, enigmatic prince.

"First of all, today I have something to contribute," Edward announced, before she could say she needed to speak to him urgently, about a matter of importance. He reached into the pocket of his shirt, and handed something small to Isabella.

It was a tissue-wrapped bundle, and on unwrapping it, she discovered that what lay in her hand in its little white crinkled nest was a ring - a golden ring. A wedding band, precisely, not so very different from the one she had so recently melted down, though it was rose gold where Renee's had been yellow.

"This was my mother's," Edward told her softly, wearing an expression that contained both tenderness and sorrow, and conveyed the heartfelt depths of his memory.

"She died when I was young, and my father married a wonderful woman called Esme, who brought me up. I've found myself thinking of the matter of my own marriage lately, and I've decided the first thing I'll do with this new gold you're creating is to have wedding bands made for myself and my bride. So it seems appropriate that I contribute this to the mix - an old ring going towards making a new one..."

Isabella's breath caught. Edward was considering marriage? She wondered who his eye might have fallen upon - which highborn lady or princess from near or far? Possibly he had been pledged to somebody since childhood, who had now become of age. This was the way these things worked in these sorts of families. There were bloodlines to ensure, dynasties to continue. Strangely, the thought upset her. Edward - charming, friendly, and solicitous as he had proven himself to be over the last couple of days, seemed to have secured himself an unexpected and surely inappropriate place in her affections. This was a moment when she should congratulate him on his upcoming nuptials, but she felt disinclined to do so.

An awkward silence ensued, until Darling broke it with an impatient cry.

"Nobody has said my name yet!" she wailed. "Isabella - aren't you going to try some more? I'll go away and never come back if you don't tell me right now!"

"Don't chuck a tanty, Darling," Isabella cooed instantly. "There are a squillion names already in existence for little girls, and a squillion more that nobody's thought of yet! I'll play with you some more, and maybe we can have morning tea..."

"Names, please," demanded Darling, without the least appearance of mollification.

Isabella sighed, casting a glance at Edward, who looked back at her curiously.

"Rose, Donna, Martha, Amy?"

Darling stamped a foot. Alarmingly, a small crack appeared in the floor.

"Katniss? Primrose? Dellie? Effie?"

With an expression of exasperation, Darling stepped close to Bella.

"I really mean it," she whispered. "It's not that I _want_ to disappear. But I just_ will_. If you can't give me my name, I won't exist!"

_"Give_ you your name? I thought I was guessing it," Isabella answered, confused.

"Oh, Bella," said Darling. "I'm not actually real you know. Only you can make me. Now what's my name?"

She lifted her little hand for a moment to Isabella's cheek and in a flash, Isabella saw a montage of images. Herself, casting a gold circlet into the pot, watching it liquify. A hand adding another gold circlet, and the two golds mingling into a soft yet fiery blend of pink and yellow. Two rings emerging, and an image of each being placed upon a third finger of a left hand...then a radiant Bella in a wedding gown, body held tightly against the tall figure of a man who was kissing her. When they broke apart, and their faces gazed at each other's in happiness and love, she saw that the man was Edward. Following swiftly upon that picture was one of her holding a bundle - a baby swaddled in white cloth, and the arms wrapped around both of them were those of Edward, smiling down with tenderness and pride. Then another picture, undeniably of Darling, though much younger, weaving unsteadily on chubby legs, hands held on either side by doting parents - Isabella and Edward.

Isabella dared a glance towards the prince, realizing with acute embarrassment that Darling was also touching him on the cheek.

"What are you seeing?" Isabella asked him in a trembling voice.

"You and me and Darling, all together like a family. It's what she's showed me all along," he answered.

"But - " Isabella floundered. "I thought she showed you gold?"

He favored her with the same smile she'd seen in the images, the smile of adoration and devotion.

"No, something far more valuable," he murmured.

"Excuse me!" Darling interrupted their moment of discovery. "_What's my name?_"

And although she suddenly had things to think of that she could not have contemplated, Isabella was affected by the girl's urgency. She wracked her brains. Herself and Edward - Darling's parents? Bound together by love and marriage, symbolised by wedding bands? That was it! There was her answer!

The rings of their mothers, combined, made into something new to celebrate and formalize and signify a loving bond. Was there a way somehow to combine the two names, to make something new for this beautiful child, to call her into existence?

"_Renesmee_!" Isabella declared triumphantly, but to her dismay, Darling struck the floor again with her small foot.

"No!" she shouted. "That's not my name! It's too awful!" Another crack appeared. Such a small foot to cause damage to a stone floor!

"It's a lovely name!" Isabella pleaded, but Darling shrieked and began to cry, unconvinced, and seemingly inconsolable.

"You can't call me that! I won't let you!" she insisted, and stamped her foot a third time. "Think of something else or I'll never be born!"

The castle was several hundred years old and had withstood invasions and sieges, fires and floods, lightning and snow, and yet at the third footfall from an exceedingly angry non-existant child, a hole appeared in the floor, and Darling simply sank.

Isabella and Edward darted forward, but were in no way able to prevent the child vanishing through the hole, as she seemed to evaporate despite their grasping efforts. They were left empty-handed, staring at one another.

Isabella began to cry softly, and Edward reached a tentative hand to her shoulder.

"Do you think she's really gone? What does it all mean?" she begged him.

He shrugged. "I don't know, but we'll work it out. Together. I think that she meant we'd be together."

This idea was so new and so startling that Isabella couldn't take it in. "But you're going to get married..." she mumbled.

"Well, it's early days yet. I've met someone, it's true, but I don't expect her to walk down the aisle with me in the next five minutes or anything. I though I'd start with some sort of romance first. Like inviting her for hot chocolate," he said.

"Oh. Hot chocolate with marshmallows?" Isabella inquired shyly, looking up at him as he nodded. "Pink or white?"

"Pink, of course," he smiled.

Later, down in the kitchens, Isabella and Edward continued to smile at each other, hands wrapped around warm mugs frothing with milky, creamy chocolate drink.

"So, this has all been kind of weird. The whole business with the gold - you really got me over here hoping that I could make you fabulously wealthy?" Isabella asked.

"No. I've got enough to live on, and I can always get a real job. I have no belief whatsoever in transmutation. I wanted to see you some more, and I didn't know if your father would agree to let you go out with me, so I ran with the whole alchemy thing - I was improvising. I really just wanted a chance to get to know you."

"And what about Darling? Do you think she'll come back?" Isabella asked wistfully.

"I don't know. I got the impression that you and I would have to marry first, to call her into being. But... we could take things slowly - we could date for a while. As long as you like, really. We need to build up to the exchange-of-rings business, because that's all very grown-up and serious. Are we actually engaged already? I really don't know if I'd want to have a child before we've even - well, you know. There's a process. And, sorry, but that name was dreadful. No wonder she ran away," Edward replied.

"I thought it was a nice touch, to acknowledge our mothers like that," Isabella sighed, internally incredulous that she could be having a conversation about naming their first child with a man she barely knew, yet apparently was to marry. "Hey - but you said Esme was your adoptive mother! What was your birth mother's name?"

"Elizabeth."

"Oh - Elizabeth. Elizabeth. That's a _lovely_ name."

And somewhere out in the ether, in the place souls reside before they are called forth into this material world, where they float in the sublimity of pre-existence, a trilling, musical voice was distinctly heard to say, "phew".

And somewhere rather closer, the man who was clever but not clever enough, was about to find that though his attempts at transmutation had met with a disappointing result, he was nevertheless apparently well able to make something enduring and invaluable. He was exceedingly good at match-making.


End file.
